


Mind the Baby

by valderys



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Babies, Foreshadowing, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-03
Updated: 2010-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valderys/pseuds/valderys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The baby was crying again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mind the Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angiet](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=angiet).



> Written in 2005 for Angie's birthday - she wanted baby!Frodo fic!

Bilbo paced as he listened to it wailing. How on earth had he permitted himself be left in this position? He didn't know the first thing about looking after babies, he was a confirmed bachelor, everyone knew that. He was good old Uncle Bilbo, always ready with a sweet, or an unsuitable present. Fine purveyor of stories to entertain, to intrigue, possibly to even scare a little, but only once the children could talk and answer back. What was he supposed to do with a crying infant, still swaddled in nappies? It wasn't as though he could tell it to be quiet!

He turned on his heel and began to tread impatiently back across the carpet again, as the baby's screams became ear-splitting for a second before settling down into the unhappy grizzling it seemed most fond of. Should he go and try and comfort it? But the image of a pink and squirming creature, probably leaking from both ends, and ugly enough that only a mother could love it, came into his mind, and Bilbo shuddered at the thought.

After all, it wasn't really his responsibility, now was it? Prim had said that she and Drogo only needed to pop out for half an hour or so, and that little – now what was its name? – ah yes, little Frodo, was sound asleep. She'd assured Bilbo that he was a sweetheart, a veritable angel, who never cried, and who always slept right through. Right through what, Bilbo wanted to know? Right through the front door being closed, perhaps? Right through its parents walking down the garden path, and across the Long Field, and out of earshot, perhaps? Then it woke up, didn't it? Of course it did, woke up with a vengeance. And hadn't been quiet since.

Wincing, Bilbo ran his hands through his greying curls, and tugged them a bit in frustration. It hurt a little but didn't help his dilemma, as he listened to the child wail even louder. The fact remained that he was absolutely no good around babies…

He took a look at the clock and decided that this very well could be the longest half hour of his life. Longer even than when he had been riddling with Smaug, or clinging to barrels, or stuck up trees. Although, and his lips twitched at the thought, it would hardly make as good a story, now would it? Bilbo Baggins and the Baby of Doom. No, it certainly did not have the same ring to it.

So. He should go and face his Doom, shouldn't he? It wasn't like Bilbo Baggins to shilly-shally about in the face of great danger. Well, unless it came in the shape of the Sackville-Bagginses anyway. Bilbo took a deep breath and smiled wryly to himself, as he shrugged out of his fine woollen jacket, deciding that if he was giving in to the inevitable, that he might as well minimise the possible damage. And also, he mused, as he quietly moved towards the nursery door, if it still cried after his best efforts, then he could at least assure Primula that he had tried.

It was a pretty room, Bilbo thought, as he pushed open the door and stepped inside. Creamy golden walls, polished wooden floor, brightly patterned rugs in cheerful reds and blues. But the noise increased in here, of course, and Bilbo felt that all the effort Prim and Drogo had put in on the décor was rather lost on the infant screaming in the cot.

He stepped across the room rather slowly, wondering whether he would really prefer to face ravening wolves, or whether he was taking this whole child care situation a little too seriously. It made him smile, particularly when he realised he'd been tip-toeing, for it was hardly likely that his tread would be heard above noises that could very well cause whole armies of goblins to quail.

He reached the crib and gingerly leant over it. Such a tiny mite of a thing, to make such monstrous sounds! Bilbo clutched at the safety rail as he stared down. It was all red in the face, quite a bilious colour, and its eyes were all screwed up, and its little arms and legs were kicking so much they seemed to have completely freed themselves from their covering. Could that be right?

Helplessly, Bilbo looked round for something with which to calm the babe. He picked up a small floppy bunny and tried waving it a little. It didn't seem to help, but then, Bilbo thought, the child probably cannot even see it. His eye lit then on the colourful mobile which hung above the cot, a intricately painted work of art, featuring kittens chasing balls of wool. Ah yes, the very thing. Carefully, Bilbo leaned forward, holding one side of the cot's frame for balance, and spun the mobile. It tinkled most pleasingly, and the kittens chased the balls of wool, round and round.

The baby too, seemed to agree. It stopped screaming and began to hiccup instead, its eyes opening and shutting, and seeming almost to focus on the gently spinning toy.

"Good heavens," Bilbo exclaimed suddenly, "What extraordinary eyes!"

For indeed, although Prim was known for the brightness and colour of her eyes, really her son's outshone their brilliance with ease. Such beautiful depths of cornflower blue, such clarity and size, as seemed entirely remarkable to him. Or maybe all babies looked as startling as this, and he had just never noticed? Surely not?

He leaned forward a little more to catch a closer glimpse, and at once the baby seemed to notice him. Bilbo caught his breath on a protesting gasp, for it looked as though it was going to start crying again – and in this instance, Bilbo could hardly blame it, such a shock for the poor child as his craggy old face must seem. But instead, a little toothless smile glimmered forth, and tiny grabby hands snatched at the air, and Bilbo felt a tug somewhere completely unexpected.

He leaned back suddenly, in shock, and felt his watch chain slide out like butter from the snug security of his waistcoat pocket. Oh, what a silly thing to have happened! Bilbo couldn't help but feel a little anxious pang, but it wasn't as though there was any real harm done. He quickly snatched at the chain and made to stuff it back in the offending pocket, when a high-pitched gurgle of laughter caused him to look back at the baby.

Such a bright and open smile, such a happy little face! Its little limbs were kicking again, but not at blankets this time, not protesting, not at all. It seemed to be wriggling in eagerness, and the tiny hands were reaching out, were stretching… They seemed almost as though they were trying to catch something…

Almost mesmerised, Bilbo watched the little gleams of golden light as they danced on the baby's skin, round and round, darting hither and thither, chasing themselves as the child tried to catch them, as the little mite laughed and gurgled some more. Slowly, Bilbo looked up from the tiny little reflections of gold in the baby's eyes, looked up and stared at his watch chain dangling over the crib. Watched, stupefied, as his precious ring, caught on the end of the chain, twirled round and round in the tiny shaft of sun making its way through the curtains.

Such a silly thing to have happened, thought Bilbo, his heart thumping most unnaturally. Such an accident as could happen to anyone, he decided, as he tucked the ring away. And it wasn't as if there was any great harm done. No child that young would ever remember that Uncle Bilbo had a special ring. Of course not. No real harm done at all.

But the fact remained, Bilbo thought again, as he wiped his sweating hands on his trousers, the fact remained, he mused, as he watched the infant fall asleep once more, the fact decidedly remained, that he was _absolutely_ no good around babies.


End file.
